No shame; no regrets – Pride in our funerals

The Pride Festival is on in Wellington. No matter where you are on the rainbow, we’ve got your back.

Funerals serve many purposes. We come together to share our grief, support each other, and let the feelings flow through us. But we also need to laugh and celebrate a person we’ve loved. That celebration is a way the departed can stay with us. Their physical presence may be gone, but the love and connection we had with them abides in us, and in the world around us that they helped to shape.

I love those moments in a service when a person’s personality sparkles. It might be a choice of flowers, a song, a memory shared in a tribute that makes the whole gathering go “ah!” together. I love it when I’m greeting people as they enter a venue and people look at the photo on the front of the service sheet and say, “Oh, that’s so her!” Or if I’ve put together a photo slideshow, thinking to myself “I bet there’s a story behind that photo” and then hear everyone laugh when it comes up on the screen.

The most shining example of that was a slideshow I put together which included a photo of a pair of knickers. I double-checked with the family member who’d sent them – are these definitely supposed to be in it? Oh, yes. During the tributes, a family member regaled the gathering with a story (which I won’t attempt to reproduce here) that had everyone hooting with laughter. And when the slideshow played, the laughter rolled back again, a great release of feeling from people who were together to recognise, to summon up, to celebrate and to send off someone they loved.

These are the parts of a personality that everyone recognises, the true essence of the deceased, brings those who have died close to us. As someone who usually hasn’t known the person in life, when these things are shared I can feel a genuine connection as well, and know that in farewelling this individual, we’ve done justice to their whole self.

It’s always a privilege to be welcomed into the intimate space of people saying goodbye. To be given the gift of memories, stories, tears and laughter. Hearing the times when someone has stumbled, struggled, excelled, or just lived their life the best they could. From scientists to home makers to bus drivers to teachers, and everything in between and more. The different types of families people have inherited, built or stumbled upon. The things they cooked. The things they said. The things they passed along.

We hear all the ways a person can love and work and connect to the world around them. And while the delight is in the details, the specific things that make one person who they are, it doesn’t really matter what all those things were – it only matters that they were true. All these parts made this person, and now they are gone.

If there’s one thing that being a funeral director has taught me, it’s that you’ve got to live while you’re alive. We all have to leave the party eventually (no exceptions), so we’d better dance while we can. No shame, no regrets. And when we go, it’s our true selves that will continue to shine on.